


The Disaster Within

by pseudowoodo



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9576251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudowoodo/pseuds/pseudowoodo
Summary: While abroad in Italy, Blair Waldorf has an encounter with the thoroughly unsuitable Dan Humphrey, who complicates her life immensely when he shows up back in New York.A Room With a Viewau.





	1. Florence

**Author's Note:**

> Follows E.M. Forster's _A Room With a View_ , so buckle up for some Edwardian repression

“I can't understand it, I really can't,”  Blair Waldorf complained to her erstwhile companion and chaperone Dorota. “We were promised south rooms with a view close together and instead we've gotten north rooms overlooking the courtyard and far apart.”

Dorota made her usual worried noises of agreement as Blair cast a dismissive glance over the other guests gathered in the dining room. To her eye, they were all quite old and rather shabby. The only one even close to her own age was a young man with a sullen expression and unruly dark hair, but he was perhaps the shabbiest of the lot of them and clearly wouldn't do for company.

“Really,” Blair said darkly. “This place is not at all what we were led to expect.”

She turned to her food, but that was hardly any comfort. “I dare say this meat was used for soup,” she muttered.

They were at an English speaking pension in Florence, which she’d chosen partly so she wouldn't have to deal with foreigners, but mostly because it was supposed to have the most beautiful views in the entire city, which she thought would be worth the little discomforts one must expect from such an otherwise inferior establishment.

But it seemed the discomforts were not so little, the people were dull, and they had _no view_.

She gave a loud sigh so Dorota would attend her again. “I so wanted to see the Arno. The Signora’s letter _promised_ we should have rooms overlooking it. It's such a shame.”

Dorota nodded and patted her hand. “I'll make sure the first south room that becomes available will go to you.”

“Thank you, Dorota, but it'll be such a bother to move after I'm all settled won't it? And I-”

“Excuse me? Excuse me, miss?”

It was a long moment before she deigned to take notice of the man trying to attract her attention, unable to believe someone would be so rude as to interrupt a clearly private conversation.

But perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised - one did risk meeting some ill-bred people when traveling abroad and a mere glance at this man revealed he was ill-bred indeed.

He took her glance for acknowledgement and said happily, “I have a view.”

She waited in stony silence for him to elaborate.

“This is my son Dan,” he said, gesturing to the dark haired young man she’d noticed earlier. “He has a view too.”

Blair raised an imperious eyebrow. “How very nice.”

He seemed unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm. “What I mean is, we could switch with you if you like.”

Blair glanced sideways about the room and was gratified to see that the other guests had overheard and shared in her shock. At least the entire pension wasn't made up of madmen.

“Thank you, but we couldn't possibly.”

She made to return to her meal, but to her horror, he refused to let the matter drop. “Why not? You want a view and we couldn't care less. Isn't that right, Dan?”

To his credit, the young man had stayed out of the scene so far, keeping his eyes on his plate. But then, neither had he done anything to stop his father from embarrassing them and he did nothing to do so now.

“Yes, of course they should have the rooms.” He looked up at her, something challenging in his gaze. “You _do_ want them, don't you?”

Blair felt that however she answered she'd wind up the loser. Of course there was no question of taking the rooms, her, a young woman traveling alone. Well, practically alone anyway. Everyone else understood, were these men truly so low that they could not?

She was mercifully saved by the entrance of another man into the dining room, one she miraculously recognized. “Why it's Father Smythe! You remember, Dorota, from St. James in New York. How funny that we should run into him here!”

The clergyman joined their party at Blair’s instance, not quite remembering them but happy to be reminded.

“My, this is a coincidence. Especially since we've heard you’re taking the position in East Hampton.”

“Yes, I'm moving into the rectory this June. A charming neighborhood.”

“Isn’t it? My family has a house out there. I'm sure I'll be there this summer.”

Her relief at having been saved from the unholy father and son filled her with a great affection for the clergyman and she talked contentedly to him for the rest of the meal. He had been in Florence a few weeks already and was delighted to advise the newcomers.

Soon the rest of the dining room had joined in offering their own suggestions, arguing over what she simply _must_ do first. Only the young man and his father were left out and Blair was gratified to see that no one was making any attempt to include them either.

When the two outsiders rose to go, the young one turned back to look at her and gave a small smile when he saw she was watching him. Blair looked away quickly and rejoined the conversation with renewed vigor.

 

After dinner, she and Dorota retired to the sitting room with Father Smythe, Blair having formed a plan to get her view through more appropriate means.

“Do you happen to know the name of the man who was sitting across from us?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, it was Humphrey.”

“A friend of yours?”

“I'd say we're friendly - you know how it is in pensions.”

“Of course.” She gave a delicate little sigh. “Well then I’d better not say any more.”

Upon receiving the slightest amount of encouragement, she told him the whole story of what had happened before he'd entered the dining room. “It was all rather horrible. I felt I just couldn't put myself under an obligation to people I knew nothing about, you understand? And their manner was most unfortunate.”

“Of course. I think you acted very wisely.” He seemed thoughtful and Blair tried not to look excited as he said, “Still, I don't think there would have been any harm in accepting. I can't imagine he'd try to take advantage of you.”

It was what she had hoped for, but she had to be sure. “Why would he make the offer if there was to be no obligation?”

“Just to be nice I expect.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “It can be difficult sometimes, to understand people who only say what they mean.”

“So you think I ought to have accepted?” Blair pressed, ignoring his supplementary remarks. The Humphreys were not the sort of people she felt any need or desire to understand.  

“I think you acted quite sensibly under the circumstances.”

“But I could have taken it.”

“Well, yes, I-”

“Oh, I feel so foolish.” She gave another little sigh. “I _do_ wish I could apologize for my rudeness.”

Of course there could be no question of her going to seek Mr. Humphrey out in the smoking room, or worse, his personal room, which the clergyman well knew.

“If you like, I could go give Mr. Humphrey your apologies for you.” He didn't seem very pleased by the idea, but was too polite to deny her unspoken request.

“Would you? Oh thank you! It would be such a weight off my mind.”

She watched him expectantly until he got up and went off to find the Humphreys then relaxed back into her armchair.

“What?” she snapped at Dorota, who was being quiet in a rather pointed way. “Would you prefer we spend our first full day in Florence looking for new lodgings? Because I'm not staying here if we don't get those rooms.”

“Whatever you want Miss Blair.”

The place Father Smythe had vacated did not stay empty for long. Two old women tottered over to join them, introducing themselves as the Coates sisters. Blair let Dorota field their questions as they chattered on about Italy and their health.

“We were _so_ sorry for you at dinner. If only Mr. Humphrey had been more tactful.”

“He meant to be kind, I think,” said Dorota charitably.

“Yes, he probably did. But of course, one can't be too careful with a young girl.”

Blair tried to look demure as she thanked them for their support. Once this was over with, no one would be able to say she had acted inappropriately.

Presently, Father Smythe returned bearing good news. “It's all right about the rooms Miss Waldorf. The Humphreys were talking about the situation as well and, knowing what I did, I encouraged Mr. Humphrey to make the offer again, which he has. He would be most pleased if you would accept.”

“Well, if you’re sure it's all right...” Blair looked to the old ladies, witnesses to her reluctance. They seemed to approve, so she smiled at the clergyman and said, “Then we accept most gratefully. Would you mind telling him so?”

Clearly annoyed by his new role as messenger, he obliged.

 

Once it was settled, Blair sent Dorota off to oversee the move while she began planning out the following day, graciously taking suggestions from the Coateses.

Unfortunately, politeness dictated that she should eventually thank Mr. Humphrey in person. She thought breakfast the next morning would be a suitable time, but when she met the son coming down the stairs she decided he would do well enough in his father's place.

“Oh, Mr. Humphrey! I wanted to thank you and your father for your generosity. I've found such _simple_ kindness to be so rare.”

He raised an eyebrow, seeming to stop just short of scoffing. “Really? You strike me as someone quite used to getting everything she wants.”

“Not everything,” she said, meaning to suggest that if she _really_ got everything she wanted she wouldn't be in this conversation, or even breathing the same air as him, but the thought of Nate made it fall rather flat. She settled for a withering glare instead.

He gave her a wry smile. “I'll pass your thanks on to my father. I’m sure he'll be pleased.”

“Well, then I am too.” There, the civilities had been exchanged and she was free to go. With a mock smile, she said, “Goodnight, Mr. Humphrey.”

“Goodnight, Miss Waldorf. Enjoy the view.”

 

“Really, Dorota, he was incredibly rude.”

“We did turn him out of his room. And our old rooms had a smell coming up from the courtyard.”

“That's hardly _my_ fault. His father made the offer.”

Dorota looked up from where she was unpacking her things. “I only mean you should perhaps be easier on him.”

“With any luck I won't have to deal with him at all,” Blair grumbled.

Deciding to leave Dorota to her work, Blair wished her goodnight and retired to her own room next door. It would perhaps have been more prudent for her to take the elder Mr. Humphrey's room but, loathe as she was to be associated with him, the younger’s was bigger so that was the one she had chosen.

The air _did_ smell much cleaner on this side of the pension, but Blair couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for the Humphreys as she opened her window and admired her view of the lights glittering on the Arno and the half moon rising among the distant hills.

Once she'd had her fill, she closed the shutters and prepared for bed. It was then that she saw a piece of paper pinned up by the washstand, on which was scrawled a large question mark. That was all. The sight of it bothered her for no reason she could identify and she promptly tore it down and threw it away.

  
 

It was wonderful to wake up in her bright, clean room in Florence, throw open the window, and lean out into the sunshine. She could see hills and trees and marble churches under a clear blue sky with the Arno flowing past close below. It was several minutes before she bothered to tear herself away and go get dressed.

When she finally made it down for breakfast, Dorota had already finished eating and was chatting happily with another one of the pension women. They were still talking after Blair had finished, at which point she interrupted them to so that she and Dorota could start their day.

Unfortunately, Dorota claimed to still be tired from traveling and so wouldn't be able to accompany her far.

“Well, I suppose it can't be helped,” Blair said peevishly.

“I'm planning on spending the morning in Santa Croce,” Dorota’s new friend interrupted. “You could join me if you like.”

Blair smiled. “I would be delighted.” Beside her, Dorota sagged in relief.

“Wonderful! We’ll go the back way and if you bring me luck, we’ll have an adventure.”

The woman's name was Miss Payne, and she talked incessantly as they walked along the sunny banks of the Arno. She was positively bursting with facts about everything they passed, though Blair doubted half of them were true.

The top of Santa Croce had been visible from her window, so it shouldn't have been a very long walk, but Miss Payne soon had them properly lost, a state of being she seemed to find utterly delightful.

“Well this is an adventure isn't it?” she said happily as Blair cursed Dorota for saddling her with such company. The woman wouldn't even let her ask for directions and snatched her guidebook out of her hands when she tried to look up where they were.

“Such books are utterly useless,” she declared, tucking the book away inside her coat as Blair stared at her, aghast. “The only way to see the _real_ Italy is through patient observation.”

Blair wasn't interested in the real Italy which, based on their walk so far, was made up of drab, gray streets and equally dull people. She wanted to see the places she'd read about: the beautiful, not the ordinary.

Eventually, they made it to the square bordered by Santa Croce. They'd hardly been there a moment before Miss Payne ran off after some old man that struck her as _truly Italian_ , leaving Blair alone outside the church. Both annoyed at being abandoned and glad to be rid of her unfortunate companion, she determined that there was no sense in waiting and entered the church alone.

The inside was cold and drafty, light entering through a series of stained glass windows. She calmed down somewhat as she walked around the edges, which were lined with frescoes and sculpted tombs, glad to finally be somewhere marginally interesting. Of course, she couldn't fully enjoy it as she had no guidebook to tell her what she was looking at.

“Miss Waldorf!”

She turned to see the Humphreys approaching her. After the morning she'd had, she could hardly be surprised at this latest misfortune. The father was smiling good naturedly while the son wore his typical surly expression.

“Are you here all alone?”

“Not really,” she said so that they wouldn't feel obligated to stay with her. “I came with Miss Payne, but she ran off somewhere so I had to come inside by myself.”

“Why shouldn't you come in by yourself?” That was the son, looking at her in that strange way he had at dinner.

Young ladies didn't go off by themselves, it simply wasn't done, but she couldn't expect him to understand that. “No reason.” She met his gaze with a glare. “It's only that she took my guidebook with her and I wanted to get it back.”

“Dan has a guidebook, you could share with him!”

Dan watched her, almost smiling. He knew she wouldn't dream of saying yes. He thought he had her all figured out, it was written all over his smug face.

“I'd be delighted to.” She savored his look of surprise. “I'd like to see the Giottos, please.”

He nodded and they set off towards the frescoes. The elder Mr. Humphrey watched them go, seeming rather pleased with himself.

As luck would have it, Dan Humphrey was not a terrible companion. He moved from piece to piece at a similar pace to herself, or perhaps was merely happy to follow the pace that she set, and even let her hold the guidebook, content to read over her shoulder. Most fortunately of all, he did not attempt to talk to her.

They made it through several of the Giottos before they were distracted by the wailing of a child. It had fallen by the Machiavelli memorial and now seemed determined to cry its lungs out. The elder Mr. Humphrey had rushed over and was trying to help it, but despite his best efforts the child kept slipping back to the ground. Eventually its mother came over and finally managed to shut it up, while Mr. Humphrey smiled and stumbled through an attempted greeting.

“He’s always doing that,” observed his son. “He tries to be kind.”

“I hope we all _try_ ,” Blair said primly.

“Yes, but only because we think we should. He actually means it.” The woman rushed her child away and Mr. Humphrey watched them go, looking worried. “People don't always take it the right way though.”

That was undoubtedly a reference to her, but while it seemed the offer of the rooms had indeed been meant in kindness, she couldn't condone the way he'd gone about it. “I think that a kind action done _tactfully_ -”

Dan scoffed. “You don't really think being tactful is more important than being kind?”

“Being tactful is a kindness in and of itself. It's not unreasonable to expect things to be done the way they ought to be.”

“And how is that?”

“If you don't know, you really don't have any business being in polite society.” She cast a pointed glance over his cheap suit and untidy hair and gave a dismissive sniff.

The look he gave her in return suggested that he thought as much of polite society as she thought of him. Before she could respond, he walked away without another word.

Blair was at a loss for what to do. He'd left his guidebook with her, but it seemed wrong to just continue on without him. After a moment spent trying to determine the name of the fresco in front of her, she looked back at him, curious despite herself.

He had wandered further back into the church, hands tucked into his pockets. There, the deep shadows softened the hard angles of his face, turning it into something different, more tender.

“I worry about him.”

She startled at the sound of the elder Mr. Humphrey beside her, embarrassed to have been caught looking.

“He’s not happy. I don't know why. He's young, healthy, has the best education I could get him, and yet... I'd hoped this trip would help, but so far it hasn't.”

Blair couldn't fathom why he was telling her this. Unless, he expected her to _do_ something about it.

Some of her suspicion must of showed on her face because he laughed. “I'm not asking you to fall in love with him or anything. I only hoped you might try to understand him. You’re near his age and might be able to help in a way I can't.”

Blair thought she understood Dan Humphrey as much as she needed to, but out of thanks for the rooms she tried to be polite. “It sounds as though he just needs a hobby,” she said lightly. “Perhaps he should try stamp collecting?”

Mr. Humphrey nodded, clearly disappointed, though she didn't know what he'd been expecting. There was pity in the way he looked at her too. She couldn't stand it.

“Here's his guidebook back. Thank you again, but I believe I see Miss Payne coming in and I really should rejoin her.”

She shoved the book into his hands and walked away quickly, not bothering to say goodbye.

 

To her displeasure, the rest of the pension softened on the Humphreys as the days went on. It started when the two brought the Miss Coateses armfuls of violets simply because they'd mentioned how much they liked them, which baffled and pleased the old ladies in equal measure, and from there the consensus formed that they were unconventional, but ultimately harmless.

Even the picky Miss Payne approved, saying they provided wonderful inspiration for the book she was writing on modern Italy.

“Such a perfect example of the type of American tourist I mean to send up in my novel,” she crowed.

“Have you found out what sort of people they are?” Dorota asked. Much to Blair's annoyance, her friendship with Miss Payne had only strengthened since that first morning and the two could often be found gossiping together.

“Apparently, the father is some sort of musician and the son is in the newspaper business,” she replied, lowering her voice as if she was sharing something scandalous.

“What, does he sell them on street corners?” Blair said nastily.

Miss Payne laughed. “Believe it or not, he actually writes for them.”

Blair refused to be impressed.

She had managed to avoid the Humphreys after their strange encounter at Santa Croce, leaving the pension for most of each day to drag Dorota all across Florence. As time went by however, she found herself growing increasingly restless. Seeing the sites and tasting foreign foods was all well and good, but there ought to be something _more_ , oughtn't there? She was beginning to understand Miss Payne's constant calls for adventure.

After a week it became more than she could bear, and the evening came when she felt as though she couldn't possibly stay in the pension a minute longer. Dorota was resting after their day out, but there was still some time before sunset. Surely it would be all right for her to go out alone if she stuck to the main tourist streets.

So she did, feeling rebellious, though against what or whom she couldn't say.

 

She wound up by a group of vendors and bought pictures of some of the artworks she'd seen, thinking she could give them as souvenirs to her friends back home. The shopping failed to soothe her however, so she kept walking, searching.

The sun was setting by the time she reached the Piazza Signoria, deepening the shadows in the square and turning the tops of the towers gold. It was beautiful, but Blair was too restless to truly enjoy it. She yearned for an adventure, to stop feeling so safe and boring, for something, _anything_ to happen.

She was being ridiculous, she knew. It was what came of reading too many stories and being left alone with her thoughts. Life didn't magically change just because you were in a different country. She turned to go back to the pension with a sigh.

But then something did happen.  

Two men were arguing in Italian, pushing at each other. As Blair walked past, one struck the other in the chest, causing him to stumble back into her. He turned, perhaps to apologize, but when he opened his mouth, blood trickled out and down his chin.

Blair backed away, unable to take her eyes off him as he fell, reaching out to her. Suddenly, a crowd was all around them, coming between her and the man, carrying him away towards the fountain. The sound of someone crying mingled with the gentle splashing of the water. Dan Humphrey was staring at her in horror from across the square, no, he was staring _down_ at her, holding her in his arms.

It was darker now and they had moved to the steps of the Uffizi Arcade. He must have carried her. “What happened?” she asked, though she was afraid she already knew.

“You fainted.” He at least knew well enough to let go of her as she sat up.

“I'm terribly sorry.”

“Are you alright?”

“Perfectly.” She faked a smile to let him know she was well enough for him to leave her. She couldn't believe she had fallen apart so, and that he had been there to see it.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “We'd better be getting back then.” He stood up and offered her his hand, which she pretended not to see. She couldn't well return with Mr. Humphrey after leaving alone. People might think she'd gone out to meet him.

“It was very kind of you to take care of me,” she said, aimlessly searching her person to avoid looking at him. “But I'm quite well now and I can make it back on my own.”

There, she'd outright told him to leave. Yet he still didn't move. “I'd feel better if I walked with you. It's getting dark.”

“Oh, my pictures!” Blair exclaimed, the perfect excuse coming to her all at once. “I must have dropped them in the square. If you wouldn't mind...?”

“Of course,” he said dropping his hand. As soon as his back was turned she stood up, planning to run away before he could get back, but the action made her dizzy and she only made it a few steps before he called out.

“Miss Waldorf!”

She stopped and turned to see him watching her from the bottom of the steps.

“Just rest a moment. You shouldn't walk back alone.”

“I can manage perfectly well for myself,” she said stiffly. She hated being thought weak and hated more that she couldn't blame him for thinking so after she'd fainted at the sight of a little blood.

“So you can manage to get your pictures yourself then?”

She glared down at him, trapped.

“Just wait there. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She sat down and watched him walk across the square. Her gaze was soon drawn to the crowd still gathered around the fountain. Shadowy figures with black hoods had emerged from the church, people parting before them as they made their way to the man at their center.

“I suppose he's dead,” she said as Dan rejoined her.

“He is.” He wasn't looking at her, and he didn't offer to help her up again. She was glad. The thought of touching him was more than she could bear.

“They say the murderer tried to kiss him,” Dan said as they fell into step back to the pension. “He even gave himself up to the police.”

“How strange Italians are.”

He didn't say anything in response, apparently lost in thought, and she was torn between annoyance and relief. As their path took them by the Arno she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” He tried to continue walking, not meeting her eye.

“You just threw something in the river.”

“No I didn't.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Where are my photographs?”  

“Uh...”

“You threw them in the river, didn't you?”

“Okay, yes, I did! They had blood all over them and I didn't know what to do so I just-” he mimed a throwing motion then dropped his hands awkwardly. “I don't know. I'm sorry.”

He was so anxious, it was actually rather endearing and she had to stop herself from smiling. “It's all right.”

Her reassurance didn't seem to ease his anxiety however. “Something’s happened hasn't it?”

“Of course something’s happened, someone died.”

“No, it's not just that. I mean something’s happened to us. Can't you feel it?”

She felt all of a sudden that it would be dangerous to let him keep talking. “I have something to ask you before we get back, Mr. Humphrey,” she said quickly.

“What is it?”

“I've behaved most ridiculously. Really, I've never been so ashamed in my life.”

“It's nothing to be ashamed of. I nearly fainted myself and I wasn't nearly as close as you were.” It baffled her that he could say that so easily and actually sound sincere. He was probably telling the truth too; he certainly didn't have the tact to lie so pleasantly.

“Well, I'm sorry anyway.”

There was a moment of silence before he said, “Was there a question in there?”

“Yes, I was getting to that. It's just, well you know how silly people are. How they gossip. You understand, don't you?”

He gave her a look of polite confusion and she realized a delicate trailing off wouldn't work with him, he was going to make her say it. She gave an annoyed little sigh. “Would you mind not mentioning it to anyone? What happened in the square.”

“Oh. All right, I won't.”

And that was that. The strange thing was, she believed him. He might not be counted on to observe the finer social niceties, but she found that she did trust him to do the right thing when it really mattered.

The thought comforted her as they continued to walk along the river, which had turned almost black in the fading light.

“It's funny isn't it?” she said, hoping to lighten the mood. “How quickly these things happen and then one returns to the old life.”

He looked at her strangely. “I don't.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, questioning him against her better judgement.

“I think I shall want to live.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant either, but he did not elaborate and she refused to care enough to ask.

  
 

Blair gave Dorota, and by extension the rest of the pension, an abridged version of what had happened in the square: someone had died, Blair had seen it, then had run into Mr. Humphrey, who had been kind enough to walk her home. Even that was exciting enough for her to be fussed over by all the old women, whose attention she quickly grew tired of and escaped by going to bed.

The next morning, a group of pensioners were arranging a walk up to the Torre de Gallo and invited her to come along. Unfortunately, the Humphreys were also among those invited, so she excused herself, claiming she'd promised to help Dorota run her errands. It wouldn't be wise, she felt, to spend more time with Dan Humphrey. She had found herself glancing at him all through breakfast and almost every time she did he was already looking at her.

Dorota was so touched that Blair wanted to spend time with her that she didn't even question why she was willing to run errands, for which Blair was grateful.

The gratitude quickly died however once they set out and Blair realized too late that they were walking the same path she'd taken the night before with Mr. Humphrey, right back to the Piazza Signoria. The place seemed different now, every corner filled with significance. It was really quite tiresome of Dorota to bring her back.

Miss Payne was there already, right at the spot of the murder. “I've been here all morning,” she boasted. “It's given me the most wonderful idea for my book. Now, Miss Waldorf, you must tell me everything you saw, right from the beginning.”

“I didn't see much,” Blair said stiffly. She felt as though she'd been asked about it half a hundred times already, everyone eager for a taste of the drama. It was a good thing she hadn't told anyone how close she had really been. Only Dan knew that and he was the only one who hadn’t asked her anything.

“Oh, if you'd rather not relive it I quite understand,” Miss Payne said sympathetically.

It was proper for a young lady to be overwhelmed after such an event and Blair took refuge in that. “If you could manage without...”

“Of course. Us literary hacks are utterly shameless.”

It seemed her sympathy did not extend to dropping the subject altogether, and she proceeded to outline her book to her captive audience.

“The two men were really fighting over money, which won't do at all. It shall have to be a woman, our heroine, and the murder shall serve as the climax.”

Blair didn't like the speculative way the woman was looking at her. She suspected she was in the process of being cast.

“I'm afraid we have to be going, don't we Dorota?” she said as soon as Miss Payne stopped to take a breath. “We’ll leave you to your study.”

They proceeded to do the necessary exchanging of money and sending of letters, the boredom of which was almost welcome after the excitement of the past day.

Still, she was glad when they were able to move on to shopping. Blair had intended to replace the lost pictures, but found she couldn't so much as look at them without remembering Dan Humphrey’s face as he'd stood by the Arno.

Pictures were cheap presents anyway. She could do better.

 

Upon their return to the pension, Father Smythe invited them on a drive in the hills that was being arranged by Father Cavalia, a well known Florence based chaplain of his acquaintance. They would go up by Fiesole and get the most marvelous view of Florence, perhaps even make a picnic. It sounded so lovely that Blair accepted without thinking to ask who else was going.

Once she realized that not only had the Humphreys been invited but Miss Payne as well, it was too late to back out.

Thankfully, on the day of the drive, the party was large enough to necessitate two carriages. Miss Payne had unsurprisingly made an unfavorable impression on Father Cavalia during a previous encounter and he immediately turned his nose up at the Humphreys, so Blair shared his carriage along with Father Smythe and Dorota.

Their driver was Italian: young and reckless. He asked leave to pick up a girl along the way, one he claimed was his sister, though she looked nothing like him. Father Cavalia refused at first, but the other passengers interceded and he waved his assent. The girl climbed up into the driver’s seat with a pretty smile and they set off.

The two clergymen had their backs to the horses so didn’t see the driver slipping an arm around the girl’s waist before taking up the reins again. Blair however, was stuck looking right at the couple as they drove and couldn't help but be distracted from the polite conversation taking place around her.

The girl giggled and tucked herself into the driver’s side, her golden hair hanging loose down her back in a way that reminded Blair painfully of Serena. They were young, beautiful, and alive in a way that made Blair feel increasing stifled, sitting there in the carriage all pressed and pinned in her clean white linens.

As she watched, the driver overcame the girl’s false modesty and won a kiss, but his divided attention caused the carriage to lurch, finally attracting the attention of the clergymen.

The resulting scene was quite unpleasant, with Father Cavalia stopping the carriage’s progress to shout at the couple in Italian, insisting the girl get down. It went on so long that the second carriage caught up behind them and began to weigh in on the matter.

“Just let the girl stay, what's the harm?” called out the elder Mr. Humphrey.

“Yes, let them be,” said Miss Payne. “You simply _cannot_ separate young lovers in the spring.”

Blair turned to see the speakers and caught the younger Mr. Humphrey looking at her. She quickly faced forwards again.

Based on Father Cavalia’s face, the support of Mr. Humphrey and Miss Payne had hurt the lovers’ case more than helped it. He continued his diatribe, the language sounding ugly in his voice.

“Signoria,” the driver pleaded, looking to Blair for support.

The girl was looking at her too, as if trying to appeal to some fellow feeling. Her eyes flicked to second carriage then back to Blair. ‘You understand don't you?’ she seemed to say.

But Blair did not understand. She just sat there in startled silence as the two looked at her.

The girl sighed and got down off the driver’s seat.

“Finally!” Triumphant, Father Cavalia commanded the procession continue and the carriages moved on, leaving the girl standing forlornly in their wake.

 

The rest of the ride passed in uncomfortable silence, the driver making no effort to avoid future bumps and jolts. Eventually, Father Cavalia signaled for the carriages to stop and attempted to arrange the party for their walk on the hill, which was to yield those famous views of the city below. There was a great deal of uncertainty as to whether they ought to all keep together or go off on their own and after some awkwardness, the clergymen wandered one way and the ladies another while the Humphreys lingered to chat with the drivers.

Dorota and Miss Payne were quite content in each other's company, heads bent together as they gossiped, leaving Blair trailing behind. It didn't take her long to become so thoroughly bored with the situation that she decided even the clergymen would make better company. At least they would feel obligated to entertain her.

The two women hardly seemed to notice as Blair made her excuses and began to retrace her steps back down the hill.

She found the drivers sprawled out in the carriages, smoking cigars. The driver of her carriage got up and greeted her politely, the past ugliness over the girl seemingly forgotten.

She tried to ask which way the clergymen had gone but the man’s English was close to nonexistent. He seemed willing to help at least, so she kept trying, stringing together what few words she’d picked up in Italian.

“The good man” was as close as she could get to describing her quarry, but it seemed enough for the driver, who nodded knowledgeably and began to walk up the hill, gesturing for her to follow.

He made for a courteous guide, holding back branches for her as they walked through the undergrowth that separated the road from the view. At one point she heard male voices in the distance behind them, but when she asked the driver if they could perhaps have missed the clergymen, he didn't seem to understand and kept pressing on.

Then, he stopped and gestured her front of him. The view was almost unobscured now; she could just glimpse the Arno winding through the valley below. She moved forward without thinking and all of the sudden found herself slipping several feet out of the brush down a ledge. She heard the driver laughing merrily above her but before she could get a grasp on her fury, she was distracted by her surroundings.

The ground that sloped down before her was absolutely covered in violets, great swathes of blue running down the hillside like water. It was sublimely beautiful, like something out of a dream.

And there, only a few feet away, was Dan Humphrey. He'd turned when he'd heard her fall and was looking at her now as though he couldn't believe his eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment, the violets swaying against their legs, then without a word he closed the distance between them and kissed her.  

His hands went to either side of her face and hers went to his chest, though whether to push him away or pull him closer she couldn't say.

Before she could find out, she heard her name being called. They broke apart, startled, to see Dorota standing at the edge of the field, looking shocked.

It was as though a spell had been broken. All at once Blair came to her senses.

“Coming Dorota,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. She knew it would be dangerous to look at Dan at that moment, so she didn't, walking out of the violets back into the real world.

  
 

As they made their way back to the carriages, Blair had Dorota help her put her dress and hair to rights, silencing her questions with a severe look. They were never to speak of this, she ordered. It was all to be left behind on the hill.

The driver looked disappointed to see her return, the awful man. She stay made sure to stay clear of him, speaking instead with Father Smythe, who had returned as well at the approaching signs of inclement weather.

The clouds that had seemed so distant when they had set out that morning were now coming in fast and it seemed they would have to leave soon or else be caught in a storm.

Father Cavalia and the other driver went out to try and gather the rest of the party so they might go, but when they returned, Dan wasn't with them.

“We looked as long as we could,” Father Cavalia said irritably. “He’ll just have to walk.”

“But that will take hours!” said the boy’s anxious father. “And what about the storm?”

The sky was already getting dark and no one else seemed willing to wait, for which Blair was quietly thankful. They loaded up into the carriages and quickly set off back down the hill, the outing coming to a disappointing end.

Blair took no notice of the conversation around her as they raced against the storm, her mind back on the hill. What on earth had she been thinking? It frightened her that she didn't know what would have happened if Dorota hadn't come along when she did.

Or perhaps, deep down, she _did_ know. That idea was even more frightening.

She pushed the thought away. It was nothing. _He_ was nothing. It was only because of that awful driver and his awful girl. And those violets. They were at fault too.

The sky had been golden, the ground had been blue, and for a moment, just a moment, he had looked like something out of a story. That was all.

At least she could trust him not to tell anyone. It _felt_ like she could, anyway, but considering what had just happened, her judgement was obviously faulty.

The storm hit as they were approaching the outskirts of the city. Blair and Dorota huddled together under a thoroughly insufficient parasol as they were engulfed in rain and darkness. The thunder and lightning were hardly more frightening than her inner turmoil, but she screamed with the other ladies anyway because it was what was done. The men responded as they were expected to, pushing aside their own fears to soothe hers.

Despite herself, she began to worry for Dan. The thought of him out alone in the storm distressed her greatly, which was itself even more distressing. It was only natural to be worried, she assured herself. It wasn't as though she wanted him to _die_.

 

Emotions calmed as the storm passed and they reached the pension. Blair turned her mind towards damage control and instructed Dorota to inform the Signora that they would be leaving in the morning and taking the first train to Rome. Dorota, thank goodness, understood the gravity of the situation and did not protest.

Blair made an effort to be sociable during dinner, trying to appear as though everything was normal, but was continually distracted by Mr. Humphrey’s increasing anxiety over his son, who had yet to return. As soon as it was acceptable, she excused herself and had Dorota join her to begin packing.

This was right, she told herself. She had seen all of Florence she'd cared to and a hotel in Rome would be much more pleasant than this second rate pension. She wasn’t running away, just saving herself from future discomfort.

 

Later, when the packing was done and she was preparing for bed, she heard the doorbell ring downstairs. At once she went to the window, but before opening it, she paused and went back to blow out the candle, plunging to room into darkness.

She could then open the window safe in the knowledge that though she saw him, and though he looked up, he could not see her.

 

In the morning, she left for Rome.


	2. New York

When Blair came in from the garden, she found Nate and Serena sitting awkwardly in the drawing room, pretending as though they hadn't just been spying on her through the curtains.

She smiled at them indulgently. She could afford to be forgiving in her good fortune.

“He proposed, didn't he?” Serena exclaimed, unable to maintain the charade.

“He did,” Blair said, her smile widening. “And I have accepted.”

There was a pause before they began to offer their congratulations, only a slight one, but it was enough.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Aren't you happy for me?”

“Nothing!” Nate said at the same time as Serena said “Of course!”

The two exchanged a quick glance before continuing. Blair hated the companionability of it.

“We’re just a little surprised,” Nate said. “We weren't sure this was want you wanted.”

“Why shouldn't it be?” Blair asked crossly.

“Well, you did turn him down twice already.” Serena gave her a teasing little smile, like this was all rather silly.

“That was only because I didn't know him yet. But now I do.”

 

She had met Marcus Beaton, _Lord_ Marcus Beaton, on the train to Rome and he had been by her side ever since. They'd only known each other a few weeks when he'd proposed the first time and of course she'd turned him down. One couldn't go around marrying strangers they'd met while traveling.

He'd seen the sense in this and waited to propose again until her travels were done, surprising her on the ship back to New York. Again she'd refused. They had to be sure their families would approve, she’d said. And to be sure he really was a Lord, not just some grifter after her money, though she didn't voice that particular concern.

He’d seen the sense in that too and followed her home to meet her mother, who'd given her blessing. Since then he'd written to his family, who had descended upon New York to meet her, confirming he was indeed who he said he was.

So when he asked again, out in the gardens of her Hamptons home, there were no more excuses.

 

“I love him,” she said now, to her two oldest friends.

Neither looked entirely convinced but they made a decent show of hiding it.

“Well then congratulations!” Serena said, standing up to hug her. “You're getting married! This is so exciting!”

“Yes, isn't it?” Blair said, smiling and returning the hug.

Nate took Serena's place as soon as she let go. “I'm just glad you're happy Blair,” he said softly and Blair was struck by an echo of her old heartbreak.

It was supposed to have been Nate. She'd decided that ages ago, when they were hardly more than children, and as they'd grown up their marriage had only seemed more and more like an inevitability.

Then Nate had been caught with Serena at the Sheppard wedding and when given the choice of staying with Blair or salvaging what remained of Serena's already tattered reputation, he'd chosen Serena. The worst part was, Blair hadn't even been surprised.

It was years before she grew to miss them more than she hated them, but eventually she became lonely enough to accept them back into her life. After an extended period of groveling, of course.

Now everything was back to normal. Well, almost normal. There were still times she could hardly stand the sight of them together, but it had all turned out for the best hadn't it? A _Lord_ was a much better match than even Nate Archibald, no one could deny that.

 

After the engagement was announced, Blair and her new fiancé made their debut at a neighborhood garden party where she could show him off.

They made a handsome couple and congratulations poured in from all sides as they made the rounds. Blair, who had known these people all her life, preened under the attention, but Marcus soon grew bored and didn't seem to feel the need to hide it.

“Well that was perfectly appalling,” he said once they were in the carriage home.

Blair patted his arm soothingly. “I'm sorry you didn't know anyone.”

“It wasn't that, it was all the congratulations. It's terrible how an engagement is considered public property; everyone simply has to voice their opinion. It's a private matter and should be treated as such.”

“I suppose they were rather tiresome,” she said diplomatically. “Next time they won't notice us so much.”

The carriage took them down a pretty little street lined with cottages, marred only by two overgrown villas at the end.

As they passed, a man came out of one of the houses and hailed them.

Blair commanded the carriage to stop and greeted Mr. Rose. He had provided news to compete with her engagement these past few days by buying the villas to save the street from the garish new buildings the previous owner had planned to put up in their place. However, now that he had them, he didn't seem to know what to do with them and was asking anyone he could for advice.

“Old Mrs. Farkas still in one and refusing to pay rent, so I suppose I must let the other,” he told the couple with nervous energy. “The rent’s absurdly low, but it’s such an awkward size; too large for the lower class and much too small for anyone at all like ourselves.”

Marcus bristled at the impunity of being grouped in with someone like Mr. Rose, and Blair could hardly blame him; the man did not strike an impressive figure. But she knew him to be harmless so she responded politely.

“I know some people who might take it. Two spinster sisters I met abroad.”

“Gentlewomen?”

“Yes, quite the right sort of people. Father Smythe knows them too.”

“Why that sounds perfect! Thank you Blair.”

“It's no trouble at all,” Blair said. She liked to have a hand in the neighborhood affairs and the Miss Coateses had been pleasant enough company in Florence. “I'll write to them at once.”

He let them go and the carriage moved on. “What a ridiculous man,” Marcus said, almost before they were out of earshot. “He is the very essence of that garden party. _Gentlewomen_.” He snorted. “Who does he think he is?”

Blair nodded. It was different for Marcus she supposed. He was a proper Lord, naturally he would be bothered by people who merely thought themselves such. Soon she would be a proper Lady and all this would be beneath her too.

 

When their journey ended, the couple decided against going inside, instead taking a walk through the more secluded parts of the garden. Wall high hedges blocked the view of any curious neighbors and Blair decided this was as good a time as any to quash one of her lingering concerns.

“Marcus,” she said slowly, drawing them to a stop. “I've been thinking, and I do hope you won't be shocked.”

He looked at her, concerned. “What is it?”

“Well it's just... you haven't kissed me yet. Not even when I accepted your proposal.”

He blinked. “I suppose I haven't.” There was an awkward moment before he asked, “May I?”

Blair nodded, striving not to seem too eager.

There was something businesslike in the way he approached her and delicate in the way he touched her, as if she was a flower he was in danger of crushing. She wanted more, _needed_ more to overwrite the memory she'd been trying to suppress for months now, but she could hardly ask for it. She'd already been much too forward in asking for a kiss in the first place.

It was over very quickly and she tried to smile as though satisfied. The first kiss didn't have to be perfect, she reasoned. Once they were married they'd have all the time in the world to get it right and then the memory of violets would fade as though it were a dream.

 

Summer ticked by and vague plans began to be made for Blair’s departure to London. Of course, they would have to wait until all of society returned to the city in the fall to have the proper engagement and goodbye parties. The city was also where they would have to do all the necessary shopping. In the meantime, much of the summer could be spent at leisure.

It was to that end that Serena and Blair ended up trying their hand at croquet in the garden. The game didn't keep their attention for long and by the time Father Smythe found them they had long given up even attempting to play and were sitting together in the grass.

He was there to inform Blair that he’d had a letter from the Miss Coateses, finally confirming they would be taking Mr. Rose’s offered villa.

“I do hope they mean it this time. They've been so tiresome.” The two old ladies had been wavering back and forth on the issue for weeks and Blair was beginning to regret getting involved at all.

“They seem quite determined now. I answered a few questions for them and apparently they were satisfied by my response.”

“Who are we talking about?” Nate asked, jogging over to join them. Blair averted her eyes as he leaned down to greet Serena with a quick kiss.

“The Miss Coateses. They're the people Mr. Rose is going to let that villa to.”

Nate’s brow furrowed. “That wasn't the name.” He joined them on the ground, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his forearms.

“What do you mean?”

“The people Rose had let to. Coates wasn't their name.”

“Yes it is. I should know, I've been helping arrange it.”

Serena laughed. “I think you might be confused, dear.”  

“I'm not,” he insisted. “I just saw him and he said he'd finally gotten some really desirable tenants.”

“Yes, the Miss Coateses,” Blair said, exasperated.

“No, that wasn't it. It was something longer, with an H, I think.”

“Should I be writing the Miss Coateses again?” asked Father Smythe.

Blair laughed away his concern. “No, it's just a mistake of Nate's. He doesn't even know the names of the people it's supposedly been let to instead.”

“Yes I do!” Nate sat up excitedly. “I've got it, it was Humphrey, I'll bet anything.”

“Humphrey?” Blair sat up too. It couldn't be. Casually, she asked, “That's a rather common name, isn't it?”

“ _I_ don't know any Humphreys,” Serena said absently, the only one still lying back against the grass. Her hair had all fallen out of its pins. Blair had a sudden urge to rip it out.

“We met some in Florence,” Father Smythe offered. “Rather odd, but quite nice, wouldn't you say, Miss Waldorf?”

“I suppose,” Blair said icily, her rage redirecting itself to the chaplain. “Not the _right_ sort of people though.”

Nate snorted. “Well these Humphreys are friends of Beaton’s, so I don't think you need to worry about _that_.”

“Of _Marcus’s_?”

“Yes, he arranged the whole thing.”

Blair was caught between fury and relief. She couldn't understand why Marcus would go against her on this, but at least it meant it couldn't possibly be _those_ Humphreys.

“I suppose it wouldn't be our Humphreys then,” Father Smythe said, giving voice to her thoughts. “It's too bad really, I rather liked them. Do you remember that whole scene over the violets?”

Blair froze. He couldn't know. No one knew. “I can't say I do,” she said stiffly.

“They picked vases full of violets for the same Miss Coateses we were just talking about. The poor ladies were so shocked, yet so pleased. It was all very difficult.”

Blair breathed more easily. She remembered that well enough, the women had told and retold the story for the rest of their stay. “So ungentlemanly,” one would say. “And yet so beautiful,” the other would finish.

Serena laughed. “That sounds wonderful.”

“I hate violets,” said Blair. She stood up and brushed out her skirt. “I’d better go straighten this out with Marcus.”

“Oh don't leave,” Nate complained, grabbing at her ankles. “I only just got here.”

“Don't be silly,” she said, pulling away. Honestly, they ought to have grown up by now.

 

She went inside and found Marcus, who seemed in good spirits. He looked very handsome as he smiled at her and it helped soothe her disquiet.

“I was just about to come find you. I've secured some tenants for that awful villa. Please don't be angry, you'll forgive me once I explain.”

“I suppose I must,” she said sweetly, calmer in her relief. “Nate told me a few minutes ago. I wish you'd let me know sooner so I could have skipped the whole trouble with the Miss Coateses. I'd much rather have some nice friends of yours.”

“Friends of mine?” He laughed. “No, I just met them last week when I was in the city visiting mother. Complete strangers. They just started talking to me at the museum out of nowhere, if you can imagine that.”

“I don't understand.” Fear and annoyance both began creeping their way back in.

“It was the Greek and Roman wing. Apparently they'd recently been to Italy as well. Rather amusing they were. Anyway, they got to saying they were looking for a place outside the city for the father to live and the children to visit on weekends-”

“Children?” Blair asked desperately.

“Yes,” Marcus said, annoyed at being interrupted. “A son and a daughter. I only met the son though. Anyway, I looked into them, made sure they weren't actual blackguards, then wrote to Mr. Rose making it sound like they were just what he was looking for.” He laughed again. “Won't he be surprised.”

Blair, who'd been frantically trying to remember if a daughter or a sister had ever been mentioned in Florence, snapped back to attention at his laugh. “I can't believe you did this! It isn't fair!”

“Darling, it’s funny! I'm only putting the snob in his place.”

Blair doubted Mr. Rose was the sort of person who would really mind the Humphreys, but that was beside the point. “I meant unfair to _me_! You had no business undoing my work with the Miss Coateses and making me look ridiculous. How am I going to explain this to them? Don't you see the position you've put me in?”

“You didn't seem to mind a few minutes ago.” He seemed genuinely confused; Blair had never spoken to him so before.

“That was when I thought you had a reason. But it was all just for a joke!” She stormed away.

 

There had been a daughter, she was sure of it now. Mr. Humphrey had proudly told them all over dinner how she worked in the city and lived in an apartment with a group of other girls and Blair had been duly horrified.

She'd done her best to forget that, along with everything else that had to do with the Humphreys. But now they were coming back, the people and the memories both.

_Something's happened to us. Can't you feel it?_

No, no, nothing was going to happen. Blair was going to marry a Lord and move to England and live in a grand estate. It wouldn't matter then that the Humphreys were living near her family's old summer home. She would never have to set foot in the Hamptons again if she didn't want to.

The thought calmed her. She had moved beyond Dan Humphrey’s reach. Even if she should see him, nothing he did could touch her.

With that in mind she made up with Marcus, apologizing for her behavior, and wrote to the Miss Coateses to explain the situation. They were quite offended in their answering letter, but that was the least of Blair's worries.

 

The plans to move the Humphreys in progressed quickly and without interruption. Despite her resolve not to be bothered by the situation, Blair grew increasingly agitated as the time neared. It seemed incredible that this was happening at all. It almost felt as though it had to _mean_ something. And if it meant something then she couldn't just ignore it, could she?

In her anxiety, she turned to the chaplain, who to her great relief laughed off any thoughts of fate.

“When you reflect on the matter it's not so strange,” Father Smythe said, matter of fact. “You met both the Humphreys and Lord Beaton in Italy, then they met each other looking at Italian art. It's only natural to seek out things that remind you of your trip once you've returned, which at once makes it much more natural for all our paths to cross. So you see, it's only a coincidence, and not even a very big one at that.”

Blair nodded, grateful that her mind had been put at ease. “Yes, only a coincidence.”

 

Still, she was glad that she and Marcus would be in the city visiting his mother on the weekend of the Humphreys’ arrival. With any luck, by the time she returned polite society would have already turned its back on the newcomers and she wouldn't be expected to call on them.

Given the season, most of society was out of the city, but the current Dutchess Beaton had managed to scrape together an impressive dinner party all the same. Despite the company, Blair’s mind was continually drawn back to East Hampton and what must be occurring there. What would she do when she saw him again, for it now seemed inevitable that she would. Had he known she would be living so close? Had he heard of her engagement?

Blair had always tried very hard to be charming around Marcus’s family, too hard perhaps, and here her distraction served her well, making her appear more thoughtful and poised than she had at previous dinners.

“You've done well with her Marcus,” she overheard the Dutchess say after all the other guests had left. “A January wedding, I think, is enough time to make her one of us.”

“Blair is already wonderful,” Marcus said. “She’s truly special.”

Blair smiled at the defense, shaking off her worries. Marcus loved her and she loved him, that was all that mattered.

 

They returned to the Hamptons a few days later to find Serena gone to attend her sick grandmother. Nate had stayed behind and, lacking company, had joined Father Smythe in welcoming the Humphreys to the neighborhood.

He'd liked them immensely. Blair was hardly surprised by this; Nate liked to like people when he could and he _had_ been left unsupervised. She _was_ surprised however at quite how taken he was with Dan, who had never seemed particularly sociable in Italy.

“It was wonderful! I took him to the beach. You should come next time Blair, you haven't been swimming all summer.”

“Next time?”

“Well sure,” Nate said, oblivious to her displeasure. “He said he'd be here most weekends. Which reminds me, I've invited him and his sister here for tennis this Sunday. You'll be there won't you?”

“You invited them here? To _my_ house?”

Her anger had become blatant and Nate looked taken aback. “I asked your mother if it was all right first,” he offered, weakly.

Her mother had hardly been in the Hamptons all summer, so of course she would arrive _now_ and immediately do the absolute worst possible thing. Blair had been prepared to _encounter_ Dan Humphrey, not to entertain him.

 

At the very least, the presence of her mother managed to keep Blair from worrying too much about the coming weekend. Mrs. Eleanor Waldorf was taking a rare vacation from her work, subjecting herself on her daughter rather than her underlings. She mourned the absence of Serena and doted on Nate while finding a fault in everything from Blair’s clothes to her fiancé.

Though she had approved of Marcus as a match for her daughter upon their first meeting, her opinion of him seemed to lower with increased exposure.  

“I don't see why he couldn't be polite for just half an hour,” she sniffed, after having dragged the couple to call on one of her friends on almost no notice.

“Marcus has a very high standard for people,” Blair said loyally. The man in question had retired to his room, but her mother didn't seem to care who overheard. “Besides, you must admit she _is_ rather tiresome.”

“You think everyone's tiresome these days,” Nate complained.

Blair opened her mouth to deny it, but found she couldn't. Marcus had a way of making her old life seem so small.

“Not you,” she said for lack of anything better, going over to sit by him. She got the sense sometimes that Marcus didn’t much care for Nate, but thankfully he hadn’t said anything Blair might have had to argue with. At this point, after everything they'd been through, she wasn't giving up Nate and Serena for anything.

That didn't mean she couldn't be cross with them however, which she was all over again when Sunday arrived and the Humphreys with it.

 

She first saw them at church, two familiar dark heads and one fair. That was the daughter, Jenny Humphrey, a slim, pretty girl who Blair would never have recognized as a Humphrey if she'd met her alone.

As she passed the group on her way to her family’s usual pew, both Mr. Humphreys smiled at her, the father in recognition and the son, she thought, with something more. She gave them a quick nod of acknowledgement and moved on.

The smile stuck with her though, and the look that had accompanied it. What was he thinking, looking at her like that? He was looking at her still, she could feel it. She wanted very much to turn and look back at him, but if she did he'd smile again and there was an awful chance that she'd smile back. She kept her eyes forward and didn't hear a word of the service.

When it was over, her mother insisted on being introduced to the newcomers, despite Blair’s urging to wait until they came up to the house, where Nate and Marcus could act as buffers.

They found them on the lawn, where the elder Mr. Humphrey greeted Blair very fondly and was delighted to meet her mother, who was delighted in turn. To Blair's annoyance, the Humphreys actually looked quite presentable, though this was due in no small part to the presence of the daughter, who was dressed so fashionably that if she had been present in Italy, Blair might have deemed her suitable company.

They congratulated her on her upcoming marriage, or the father did anyway, but though she watched Dan carefully she failed to see any contradiction of the sentiment in his expression.

When he did speak, it was in a manner quite appropriate for an acquaintance, which bothered her for some reason she could not explain. When awkwardness did enter the conversation, it came from the father, not the son.

“I heard the Miss Coateses were coming and we've turned them out. I'm very much upset by it.”

“Yes, there was a misunderstanding,” said Blair, deciding it best not to mention Marcus.

“It seems we aren't what our landlord was expecting.” That was Dan, who spoke quite evenly but was giving her that challenging look he'd been so fond of in Florence.

“Do you think I ought to write to them and offer to give it up?” his father asked.

“Oh don't bother,” said Mrs. Waldorf with a flap of her hand. “You're here now, there's nothing for it.”

“I suppose,” he said, though he still seemed worried.

Father Smythe came over to join them, happy at the little reunion. They spoke of Italy while the two outsiders, Mrs. Waldorf and Jenny Humphrey, carried on a conversation of their own.

It was strange; Dan seemed lighter than he had in Florence. He smiled more. She supposed he'd gotten over whatever unhappiness his father was worried he'd been suffering from, but couldn't stop wondering at the change.

Eventually her mother lost interest in the newcomers, so they said goodbye to the Humphreys until the afternoon, when the children were to come up for tennis.

 

Lunch passed pleasantly enough. Now assured that Dan was capable of conducting himself appropriately, Blair no longer dreaded the coming afternoon. In fact, a part of her was almost looking forward to it.

When the Humphreys arrived, she had just settled down to read in the drawing room with Marcus. Nate greeted his guests and Blair could hear him shepherding them through the house, clearly delighted by the company.

“I’d hoped my wife Serena would be back by now,” he was saying as he led them into the drawing room. “As it is, we're going to have to find someone else to make up a forth.” He looked hopefully at Marcus. “What do you say, Beaton?”

“Oh, you don't want me. I'm really quite terrible at tennis,” Marcus said, hardly glancing up from his book.

Blair frowned. Marcus had always seemed athletic and she was sure he'd mentioned the tennis courts at his estate with fondness. But she supposed she couldn't blame him for not wanting to play with a group of practical strangers.

“That's fine, I'm awful,” said Nate - a sporting lie. “I dare say Dan here is too.”

“No, I'm quite good actually,” Dan said wryly, causing Jenny to roll her eyes and Nate to laugh. For a moment Blair envied how young they seemed.

Marcus did not seem to share her feeling, not even attempting to sound apologetic as he said, “No really, I couldn't. I'll only spoil your fun.”

Dan and Jenny exchanged a look at that and all of a sudden Blair could see the sibling resemblance. Nate was clearly disappointed and she felt a stab of shame for her fiancé’s behavior.

“I'll play,” she said, hardly before she knew what she was doing.

“You will?” Nate looked shocked. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Marcus put down his book. “You never want to play tennis with me.”

“Yes, well, you need a fourth for doubles and I wouldn’t want the afternoon to be spoiled,” she said lightly.

Good cheer restored, Nate led them down to the court. It was decided that the brother and sister should be on one side and Nate and Blair on the other, and so divided, they began.

It soon became apparent that Jenny was better than Blair while Nate was better than Dan, so it evened out nicely. At least, until the arrival of Marcus, who endeavored to recapture Blair's attention by reading aloud from his book. It was some trashy novel Dorota had probably left lying around and it was apparently so bad it simply must be shared.

“I say, listen to this, Blair. Three split infinitives!”

“Dreadful,” she said, missing her shot.

Despite the distraction, Blair found she was rather enjoying herself. She was competitive by nature so couldn't help but to be drawn in and disappointed when she and Nate eventually lost.

Her partner didn't seem to mind in the slightest and went off to hunt for all the lost balls so they might play again. Jenny volunteered to join him at once, looking up at him with big blue eyes and a pretty smile.

Blair and Dan were then left at the mercy of Marcus, who was reading a painfully written murder scene. Dan ducked under the net to join her.

“Do you mind losing?” he teased.

Blair decided against being offended. “Yes, I do. But don't go acting superior. The sun was behind you and the light was in my eyes.”

“Excuses,” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Marcus cut off her reply by clearing his throat. “The scene is set in Florence,” he said pointedly. Remembering herself, Blair turned to attend him. “Diana was speeding-”

“Diana?” she interrupted, the name striking a familiar chord. “Who's this book by?”

“Diana Payne,” he said, glancing at the spine before returning to his page.

Blair laughed. “No wonder it's terrible. We met her in Florence, do you remember, Mr. Humphrey?”

“Of course,” he said, flopping down onto the grass beside her.

“She must have given Dorota a copy once it was published. They were quite friendly in Italy. Dreadful woman.”

Marcus cleared his throat again and began to read. Blair tried to focus on the words but it was impossible to ignore Dan Humphrey's head so close to her knee. She had a sudden, absurd impulse to reach out and run her hand through his hair.

He glanced up at her and gave her a little smile, just twitch of the lips really. She clenched her hand in her skirt.

By the time Marcus finished the passage, Nate and Jenny had located all of the tennis balls and were making their way back onto the court, chatting happily as they did. Dan stood up at their approach, wandering idly away while Blair expressed the expected disgust at the reading.

“Oh, here's another good one,” Marcus said, encouraged by her reaction. He read, “Diana sat pensive and alone. Afar off, the towers of Florence while the bank on which she sat was carpeted with violets. Unobserved, Antonio stole up behind her.”

Blair stood, frozen in horror. She knew. That horrible woman knew and had written it out for anyone to read.

“There came from his lips no wordy protestation such as formal lovers use. No eloquence was his, nor did he suffer from the lack of it. He simply enfolded her in his manly arms.”

She could feel Dan’s eyes on her but didn't dare look at him, frightened of what she might see. “I've never heard such rubbish,” she said stiffly. “It oughtn’t be allowed to be printed.”

“There's another passage much funnier further on,” Marcus said, flipping away from the dreadful page. Before he could continue, Nate decided that they should all go back inside for drinks before the next match.

Blair agreed, and with her permission Nate and Jenny started energetically up towards the house. Dan, Blair, and Marcus trailed behind more slowly so that by the time they reached the path between the hedges, the other two were already out of sight. It was then that Marcus realized he'd left the book behind and turned back to go get it.

He was hardly out of sight before Blair felt a hand on her arm and was pulled against Dan Humphrey, who kissed her for the second time. It felt so horribly familiar, so horribly unlike how it had when Marcus had kissed her. Perhaps that was why she kissed him back.

He didn't say anything when he pulled away. Perhaps there was nothing to say. He fell back as Marcus rejoined them and the three finished their walk back to the house.

 

Blair excused herself from the refreshments as soon as she could, searching the house for Dorota. When she found her she pulled her into an empty room.

“You told!” she began in a furious whisper. “You told that awful woman about what happened on that hill, you must have. I refuse to believe it was a coincidence.”

Dorota's eyes widened. “She didn't put that in her book?”

“So you did tell her!”

“In confidence,” Dorota spluttered. “I'm so sorry, Miss Blair. I never thought-”

“That much is obvious, yes.”

“But no one will know? The names are different-”

“ _He_ knew. Marcus read it aloud and it inspired him to do it again.”

“He kissed you?”

“Yes, just now as we were coming up through the garden.”

Dorota gasped and burst into more apologies.

After a moment Blair cut her off. “We need to decide what to do.” There was no running off to Rome this time and she certainly couldn't trust him not to do it again. She should probably tell Marcus. As her fiancé, he was obligated to deal with any man who had insulted her so. He wouldn't be angry at her, not if she explained the whole thing to him, perhaps crying a little as she did. It wasn't as though she had done anything wrong.

But she couldn't quite manage to condemn Dan Humphrey so, not even in her thoughts. He was confused, that was all, and needed to be set straight. And if she didn't want anyone to know, then she was the one who must do it.

She sent Dorota to fetch him to the empty dining room, asking her to stay once she'd done so. Her presence steadied Blair as she looked at Dan Humphrey standing across the room. Nothing could happen with Dorota there.

Short and simple would be best, she decided. “You need to leave.”

“What?”

Honestly, he had no right to be confused. “Go, please. I don't want to have to call in Mr. Beaton.”

Dan looked baffled. “You don't mean you’re actually going to marry him?”

This struck Blair as a very odd thing to say. “Of course I'm going to marry him. We’re engaged.”

“Do you even like him?”

“I - I'm scarcely going to discuss-”

“Do you?” He was giving her that searching look again and she could hardly stand to meet it.

“Of course,” Blair said, annoyed and not looking at him. “As I said, we’re getting married.”

“Really? Because I want to be happy for you, I want _you_ to be happy, but he-” Dan paused, clearly frustrated and unsure of how to proceed. It was so like how he'd been when he'd thrown her pictures into the river that she had to command herself not to soften.

“He what?” she snapped.

“He seems the sort of man more concerned with things than people,” Dan began, finding his thread. “When we met at the museum he winced whenever my father mispronounced the name of a painter, then he brought us here as some sort of joke. And now we’re here, not only is he rude to us, but to your friends, to you even! The way he talks to you, always telling you what to think and feel-”

“And what exactly are you doing now, if not that?” she demanded, latching on to something she could, if not refute, at least turn back on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, frustrated still. “I don't mean to. Look, this is coming out all wrong. I didn't come here with the intention of kissing you, I swear, I wasn't intending anything. It was that stupid book that brought it all up again and I’m sorry. But I don’t regret it. And you kissed me back, I felt it.”

“It doesn't matter what you think you felt,” Blair said hurriedly before Dorota could get any ideas. “This isn't a discussion. I'm asking you to leave.”

“Blair,” he said plaintively, moving towards her. She automatically took a step back and he stopped.

He sighed. “When we came here and I heard you were so close I thought, I guess I thought it must mean something. Like it was a sign.”

“I don’t believe in signs and neither should you,” Blair said, remembering what Father Smythe had told her. “It's just a coincidence and not even a very big one at that.”

He looked at her so sadly then that she couldn't bear to meet his gaze. “I know how I feel,” he said simply. “And I think you feel the same. But if you really want me to go, I will.”

Blair waited, thinking he would say something more, have some grand dramatic finish, but after a moment of them just standing there, her not quite looking at him, he nodded and left. He had been waiting for her to say something, she realized, and she hadn't.

She heard the door close and saw him through the window, walking down the front path. “Well, that’s done then.”

Dorota came over and put a hesitant hand on her arm. “You handled that very well, Miss Blair.”

Blair gave her a tight lipped smile and pulled away. “I’d better be getting back now.”

She left the dining room to go find Marcus and the others but after a few steps she stopped, overcome with some emotion she did not care to name. She was suddenly very aware that summer was coming to an end; the days were getting shorter and darker and in no time at all winter would be upon them. The thought filled her with a strange dread.

What was the matter with her? She was being ridiculous. Blair collected herself and rejoined the party.

“There you are,” exclaimed Nate. “There’s enough light left for at least one more set, want to head down? Where’s Dan?”

“Mr. Humphrey had to go,” she said evenly.

His sister looked at her suspiciously, but the two men seemed to find nothing strange.

“Oh, that’s too bad, it ruins the four.” Nate turned to Marcus with a hopeful smile. “What do you say, Beaton? Play with us just this once? You can be on a team with Blair.”

“I told you, I really not an athlete. I won’t inflict myself on you.”

Nate’s face fell and Blair looked at Marcus, the scales falling from her eyes. Good God, he was insufferable. How had she ever stood him for even a moment?

She broke off her engagement that very evening.

 

“I am very sorry about it,” she said as gently as possible through her irritation. “But I’ve thought it over very carefully and I should have refused you this last time you asked as I did the times before.”

“Blair, you don't know what you're saying,” Marcus said firmly. “You’re tired.”

“Tired?” Her eyebrows rose dangerously and he seemed to realize he’d said the wrong thing.

“Well, you sound tired,” he corrected weakly.

“So what if I am? It doesn’t prevent me from realizing I can’t marry you.”

“I just don’t understand,” he said, exhibiting more emotion than she’d ever seen from him before. “I thought you loved me.”

She did feel a little sorry for him then. “So did I.”

“Is there someone else?”

“Why would you say that?” she snapped, pity vanishing. “As if women are only ever thinking of men and if a girl breaks off her engagement it must be because she hopes to get someone else. She couldn’t possibly be breaking it off for the sake of her own freedom.”

Marcus looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean to imply anything of the sort.”

“Well this has nothing to do with anyone else,” Blair insisted, having almost convinced herself that it was so. “I’m not in love with anyone.”

“Of course not, you’re not that sort of girl. I apologize.”

“It’s all right,” Blair said, calming. “Look, I know you don’t understand, but this has been building for a while. I only didn’t realize it until now. I am sorry.”

He seemed to finally realize that she was serious. “I suppose this is goodbye then.”

“Goodbye, Marcus.”

 

The next morning she informed the household that Marcus was gone and the engagement was off. They were all very sympathetic, if confused.

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing we didn’t get too far with the wedding preparations,” her mother said irritably, though Blair thought she seemed a little pleased.

“Would you mind not telling anyone just yet? I don’t want gossip spreading.”

Understanding nods were given from all sides.

“Do you need anything?” asked Nate. “I’ll write to Serena, tell her to get back as soon as she can.”

Blair smiled in gratitude. “I think I just want to be alone right now, thank you.”

 

Once alone, she was overcome with panic. She had refused a _Lord_ , kissed all her dreams of European aristocracy goodbye, and for what? Certainly not for Dan Humphrey. If anyone so much as thought he'd had a role in any of this they’d think she’d gone insane. She could practically hear the whispers. _Did you hear about Blair? Such a shame..._  

No, she hadn’t done it because of him, it had nothing to do with him at all. Well, perhaps he _had_ helped her in seeing Marcus’s faults, but anyone could have done that. It didn’t mean anything.

But of course _he_ would think it did if he found out, which he inevitably would. He’d give her that knowing look and what would she say to him then?

She had to get away, she realized. Leave before she had to face him, or anyone. She could go to Paris and stay with her father. The thought calmed her. Yes, that would be perfect.

 

She broached the subject with her mother that very afternoon.

“Why should you go to Paris? You were just in Europe.”

“I only saw father at the beginning of the trip and that was months ago.” Mrs. Waldorf looked unmoved and Blair summoned some tears. “Please mother, I can’t stay here right now, I have to get away.”

“Well, all right,” her mother said awkwardly. She never dealt well with her daughter’s emotions. “It shall be a pain to arrange on such short notice, but if you must.”

 

A trip into the city was required for all the necessary shopping, so the two went together once the preliminary preparations had been made.

Interspersed with the shopping they had to call upon all of their friends who had already returned to the city for the fall. Blair therefore had to spend much of the day dancing around the subject of her upcoming wedding, with her mother reluctantly following suit.

“I don't see why you couldn't have just told them about Marcus and been done with it,” she complained on the train back to the Hamptons. “The amount of effort put into avoidance and skirting the truth hardly seems worth it.”

“I told you, I don't want anyone knowing until I've left. It's better this way.”

“But why? And why this rush out of the country in the first place?”

Because she wasn't in love with Dan Humphrey was not, she was afraid, an answer that would hold up to scrutiny.

So instead she said, “I just want my independence.”

Her mother was huffy and unsatisfied, but she didn't press the matter, and allowed the rest of the train ride to pass in silence.

 

A carriage picked them up at the station. They took a roundabout way back to the house, stopping to collect Dorota, who'd gone into town to visit one of her friends.

As they passed Mr. Rose’s two villas, Blair noticed the lights were out in one.

“What happened to the Humphreys?”

“They've gone,” answered Dorota, eyes flicking nervously between Blair and her mother. “Apparently it wasn't working out.”

Blair sank back into the carriage seat, annoyed and anxious. So all this fuss had been for nothing. She felt the weight of all the wasted plans and money, but she could hardly go back on them now without looking like a fool.

Dorota requested that they stop by the church and Mrs. Waldorf assented.

Blair couldn't bear the thought of church at the moment and asked to stay behind in the carriage. With a put upon sigh her mother suggested she wait in the rectory instead. So she went inside and a maid showed her to Father Smythe’s study, apologizing that it was the only room with a fire.

To her surprise, the room was already occupied.

“Miss Waldorf! How lovely to see you.”

Blair faced the elder Mr. Humphrey with some trepidation, unsure of what he knew. “I’m glad to see you too. I'd heard you'd gone.”

“Yes, I only came to say goodbye to Father Smythe.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “My dear, I am so sorry. And Dan is sorry. I taught him to believe in love and he thought he had the right to try.”

Blair turned away from his earnestness and began examining Father Smythe’s bookshelf. “I'm glad he's sorry,” she said stiffly, choosing a book at random. “He has misbehaved from the first. In fact, he has behaved abominably.”

“No, not abominably,” the boy’s father corrected gently. “He only tried when he should not have tried.”

“Of course,” she said, rather ashamed. “That was too harsh.”

She turned back around, nervously tapping the spine of her book. “Mr. Humphrey, I do hope you're not leaving on my account.”

He gave a small shrug as if there were nothing for it. “Dan doesn't want to come back here, and I don't want to be kept from him.”

“But I won't even be here,” she explained. “I'm going to Paris.” It seemed too awful that after all the fuss over the villas he would lose his house and probably some money for no reason at all.

“But aren't you getting married soon? Oh, I suppose your fiancé will be with you.” He looked concerned. “It isn't because of Dan that you're both going is it?”

It would be all too easy to lie and be done with it, but when faced with his kindly, worried expression, it seemed impossible. “Actually, Mr. Beaton won't be joining me. He's already on his way back to London.”

“You’ve separated? But then-” Understanding dawned. “You do love Dan!”

It was awful to hear it from a third party, worse even than when Dan himself had said as much.

“But you do!” he continued, not even waiting for her to object. “And so you've broken off your engagement.”

Blair tried to summon the outrage she'd felt when Marcus had unwittingly accused her of the same thing, but it failed her. “I don't love him,” she managed. “I _can't_.”

Mr. Humphrey was not convinced. “There's no use running away, Miss Waldorf,” he said gently. “It isn't possible to love and to part. Believe me, I know by experience that no matter how you ignore it, love doesn’t leave you.”

To Blair’s horror, she felt tears in her eyes. The truth was welling up inside her now and there was no avoiding it. “There’s nothing to be done,” she said, her attempt at firmness failing miserably. “The ticket’s already bought and I told Marcus and my mother and everyone that it was nothing.”

“But it wasn’t,” he insisted.

“They’d all think I’m such a fool,” she said softly. And they would be right too. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“I think you could.” He approached her slowly, as if she might bolt, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Courage, Miss Waldorf. Courage and love.”

 

Dan Humphrey’s apartment building wasn’t half so frightful as she had feared.

It was a blur as to how she’d gotten there; Dorota had managed most of the details. Dear Dorota, who of course had known that Mr. Humphrey had been visiting the rectory and done her quiet best to set things straight.

Blair reached the door and hesitated before knocking. She still wasn’t at all convinced this was the right thing to do, but after that talk in the rectory it somehow felt as though not doing it would be far worse. Blair Waldorf was not going to be sent running by Dan Humphrey or anyone else. So she knocked.

The look of shock on his face when he opened the door would have been funny if she hadn’t been so nervous.

“What are you doing here?”

She could see hope and suspicion warring on his face and realized that she hadn’t considered what to say. She supposed she’d thought he’d look at her and just know.

“I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said primly. “And I just wanted you to know that it had nothing at all to do with you-”

But he was already kissing her, right there in the hallway, and she couldn't bring herself to mind.

He was wearing the stupidest smile when they broke apart, and she could feel a matching one on her own face as her hand curled into his shirt.

“So, Dan, are you going to invite me in or what?”


End file.
